


you're about to miss your shot (are you gonna kiss me or not?)

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Canon drug use, Canonical Character Death, Descriptions of suicide, Five Plus One, Kissing, M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, Pre-show, Romantic Tension, Sexual Tension, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-05 03:52:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17911502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: Four times Klaus wanted to kiss Diego, and one (several) time(s) he did.





	you're about to miss your shot (are you gonna kiss me or not?)

**Author's Note:**

> moreeee kliegooooo whoo-hoo! this idea struck me after seeing a video of all the times klaus and diego come nose to nose, and thinking about how klaus probs always wants to kiss diego. this fic features my personal headcanon abt ben's death since it's not made clear in the series, and the last scene in the fic takes place sometime around ep 7/8ish. 
> 
> thanks to hannah for beta'ing!
> 
> enjoy!

_**thirteen** _

Klaus had _said_ he didn’t want to wrestle. Diego is hardly one to take “no” for an answer. Besides, Luther is gone on a mission with dad, and none of the other kids are as fun to wrestle with—or at least, that’s what Diego tells Klaus. It smells like bullshit, but Klaus isn’t great at turning Diego away.

So that’s how they end up: Klaus predictably pinned with his hips bracketed by Diego’s legs. Diego’s got a hand carefully braced around Klaus’ neck and the other is holding one of his signature knives, the metal glinting in the late afternoon sun. Diego’s barely broken a sweat, and his breathing is steady and even; meanwhile, Klaus feels like he ran a marathon and could _really_ go for, like, a smoothie or something.

He gasps and licks his lips and swallows to try and wet his desert-dry tongue. “Uncle,” he wheezes. He raises a shaking hand to bat at Diego’s chest. “Ger’off me, I said _uncle_ , Diego.”

Diego’s grinning like the little shit he’s always been. He bends at the waist and leans down; how he holds himself up like this without putting excess weight on Klaus’ neck—well, Klaus _knows_ how he does it (training, hard work, dedication, all things Klaus has steadily lost interest in over the years), but Klaus could never even hope to achieve it.

“I win,” Diego says.

Klaus rolls his eyes and swallows a gasp when Diego squeezes his neck tighter. “I _said_ uncle,” he says again.

Diego doesn’t move off him. He lightens his hold ever so slightly until Klaus can breathe easy again, but he doesn’t stand up. He doesn’t put down his knife, either, and Klaus eyes it wearily.

“Diego, c’mo-o-n,” Klaus whines and starts to squirm. He jerks his hips up and tries to dislodge Diego off his lap to no avail.

Diego is silent and he leans a little closer, close enough that their noses nearly brush. It’s then, as Diego’s juice-sweet breath hits his face, that Klaus has a striking, sudden thought.

_I could kiss him._

_I_ want _to kiss him._

Klaus doesn’t panic. The thought doesn’t quite scare him, and second by passing second has Diego’s weight changing from suffocating to comforting. Klaus lets out a long shuddering breath but doesn’t quit his squirming. He rocks up harder, kicks out a leg, then the other, then shifts his hand on Diego’s chest to knot in the fabric of his shirt as if that will do anything.

Diego smirks, lets out a wry chuckle and then he’s leaning back and clambering off Klaus.

Klaus shivers at the loss of warmth and weight. He looks up as Diego stares down at him.

“Same time next week,” Diego says, and it isn’t a question.

 

 

 

**_sixteen_ **

Klaus draws his legs as close to his chest as he can. His eyes hurt and his cheeks are clammy; his head is throbbing, pounding. Voices are clawing at him, at the inside of his head, and he feels like his ears are bleeding—though to anyone else, Klaus’ bedroom would be painfully silent.

He presses his face against the tops of his knees and lets out a shuddering whine. He can’t get the image out of his head: almost blue skin, bulging and red-speckled eyes, the way Ben’s feet barely brushed the floor. Almost like Ben could’ve saved himself, if he had really wanted to. Could’ve stretched and got his feet on solid enough ground that the noose around his neck couldn’t do its fucking job.

Klaus knows he’s crying again, but he barely feels it. What he does feel, sudden and abrupt, is the hand on his shoulder. His throat is raw from screaming and sobbing, so his noise of surprise is little more than a rasp.

Diego slides onto the bed with him, murmuring, “scoot.” Klaus obeys and shuffles over to make room. Diego’s hand slides from Klaus’ shoulder across his back, wrapping around him tight and careful. Diego doesn’t say anything else as he gets situated, knees drawn up just like Klaus, their bodies pressed together side by side.

Klaus can’t stop looking at Diego. Diego, who’s hot-headed and strong and doesn’t seem to have shed a tear. Klaus wants to be angry at him—Ben is, _was_ their brother, and he’s _gone_ —but he’s just so tired. He can’t summon the energy to be angry any more than he can stop the voices in his head.

In the end, Klaus tips his head to the side and rests it on Diego’s shoulder. He can’t find the words to say so he doesn’t say anything at all.

“It’s gonna be okay.”

Klaus squeezes his eyes shut and tucks his face against Diego’s neck. He smells like the starch in their uniforms and that stupid cologne he’s been trying to pull off, and underneath it there’s the scent of sweat. Klaus burrows closer.

“Careful,” Diego says. “We’ll fall off.”

Klaus lets out a whimper and pulls back enough to look up at Diego. They’re close, this time their noses do brush. Klaus hurts and aches deep in his chest and he’s shaking, wonders if Diego can feel it.

It would be so easy to lean in a little more, tilt his head just _so_. Klaus is sure it would make him feel better. It would be soft and gentle and warm and real and alive and everything Ben isn’t, anymore.

Klaus almost does it, he’s so close it’s almost as if his exhale becomes Diego’s next inhale.

There’s a knock at the door, and Diego’s gone in the blink of an eye, shoving past Vanya to get away.

“Klaus,” she starts.

“Leave.”

Vanya hesitates in his bedroom doorway for a split second, before she turns, leaving the door open an inch behind her. Klaus throws the nearest thing to him—a book, one of Ben’s maybe—to shut it the last inch.

 

 

 

**_twenty-one_ **

After Ben’s death, Klaus resigns himself to a life of always wanting to kiss his brother. Sometimes he wants to kiss the rest of his siblings too, an idle fledgling thought; sometimes he dreams of kissing Ben, though he never dares to think of kissing Five (he’s half worried that if he even _thinks_ about it, Five will somehow reappear to kick his ass). But Diego...he’s always thinking about kissing Diego. And as he gets older, he thinks about _more_ than that, too.

But they grow apart, those moments where they’re nose to nose become less frequent, and Klaus tucks all his feelings away in the bottom of a bottle. Or the bottom of a dime bag, the end of a joint, the back end of a skeevy alleyway with the gravel digging into his knees as he—

The point is, he lives with it, learns to deal with it, accepts it. He moves the fuck _on_ with his life, moves out of the house, and just does what he can to survive.

It’s all going just _peachy_ , right up until Diego and his cop academy bros stumble into the same gay bar Klaus happens to be in. Makes sense, it _is_ their birthday, after all. Why Diego has chosen this bar of all places is a mystery, but the pointy plastic hat on his head that reads _BIRTHDAY BOY_ in bright letters isn’t.

Klaus resolves himself to ignoring Diego and getting plastered; he’s old hat at drinking by now, and his not-quite-friends around him know that. He’s already pretty buzzed, a faint high rumbling underneath the pounding heat of liquor in his veins. He knocks back three shots in rapid succession, even though only one of the shots was actually his and puts Diego out of his mind.

“Klaus!”

Well, there goes _that_ plan.

Klaus steels himself and wills the alcohol to work _faster_ and get him properly drunk, but knows it won’t happen in the time it takes him to turn around and face his brother. The one he hasn’t seen in going on four years.

“Diego!” He crows back, accepting the half handshake, half bro-hug that Diego ropes him into. “Happy birthday.”

Diego laughs, even though it’s not funny. “You too.” His eyes are sparkling; he’s definitely already drunk. “Small world, huh?”

Klaus shrugs. “Not exactly your scene,” he says. What he means is, _I never thought I’d see you again. I thought I never wanted to._

Diego’s brows furrow like he can’t quite parse through Klaus’ words. _Fuck_ , Klaus thinks, _I’m too sober for this_.

“How about we buy each other a round of shots?” Klaus asks, suddenly, because anything is better than _this_. “If your buddies don’t mind me stealing you for a few.”

Diego looks at his—friends? Coworkers? He shrugs. “They won’t care. Last one to finish the shots buys round two?”

Klaus snickers. “Sure,” he replies.

Less than ten minutes later, Klaus is smiling at Diego as the other man struggles to pound the last two shots from his round of five. Klaus had done it like it was nothing, because for him, it is. But Diego’s already swaying back and forth and the fourth shot in his hand is threatening to upend all over his lap.

“Let me take that off your hands,” Klaus says as he reaches for the little glass. “Think you’ve had enough.”

Diego smiles lopsidedly at him, and keeps smiling as Klaus tilts his head back and takes shots four and five (or for him, six and seven). Klaus shudders as the burn of alcohol tears through his throat.

“What’re you looking at?” Klaus drawls.

“You,” Diego says, like it’s simple.

Klaus curses the blush he feels rushing to his cheeks and choses to blame it on the booze, which he can steadily feel overtaking his senses and inhibitions. He flips Diego the bird and taps the bar for another drink; the bartender gives him a grin, a flirty one like always, but scampers off when—

“Are you _growling?_ ” Klaus asks incredulously.

Diego stops abruptly. “I should go. The guys…” He looks over his shoulder to where, it seems, all his cop buddies have found other things to occupy themselves with.

Klaus stops him with a gentle hand on his chest. “Diego, wait.”

Diego does, but he fidgets where he stands. His lips move like he means to speak but no words come out, there’s nothing. Diego rises from the sticky barstool and Klaus copies him so they’re standing chest to chest. Klaus can feel Diego’s every breath, can feel the strength just dying to bust out of that stupid academy issue t-shirt he’s wearing.

Klaus leans in for a split second. No one would care here, if they could even see the two of them through the smoke making the bar hazy. His hand on Diego’s chest tightens in the thin fabric and pulls him incrementally closer. Klaus licks his lips and Diego’s pupils are blown wide.

“Klaus,” Diego says. “I.” He stops.

Klaus stops, too. He loosens his hold on Diego’s shirt and pats the fabric so the wrinkles smooth out. “Go.” He says it gently, but the hard edge cuts up his mouth like glass shards. He’s drunk now, it’s coming on fast like a runaway train, but instead of feeling bright and happy he feels like a stomped-out flame. “See you in ten years.”

Diego looks like he wants to argue but doesn’t. He opens his mouth one last time, then hurries over to one of his friends playing pool.

Klaus turns back to see the bartender pouring him a generous helping of scotch on the rocks. Klaus flashes him a smile, flirty, just like the one the bartender gave him before.

 

“Won’t your boyfriend…?” The bartender asks. Klaus hasn’t even learned his name yet.

“Not my boyfriend,” Klaus says before shoving the blonde-haired, blue-eyed man up against the alley wall.

 

 

 

**_twenty-six_ **

Klaus is high. His head is blissfully quiet, as it always is when he’s got good drugs in his system. His head lolls back, hits the back of the ratty couch he’s sacked out on, and it’s not even uncomfortable. When he stares at the ceiling, there aren’t any dead, disgusting faces looming over him, whispering at him and begging him for help. Not even Ben is around, although he hates it when Klaus gets high, so he’s been around less and less often voluntarily anyway.

Klaus sighs and smiles. He feels a little like he’s melting, sinking into the couch. He wonders if he could just fade away, cease to exist entirely.

“That’d be the life,” he says to no one, because the den he’s in is empty aside from broken beer bottles and lumpy mattresses.

“Talking to yourself again?”

Klaus slowly lifts his head, and _god_ , it’s a gargantuan effort. He blinks the stars from his eyes and shakes his head to right his vision. Slowly, his vision clears and the person in front of him comes into focus.

“Are you dead?” He asks. He wonders if his voice is as slow as it actually sounds.

Diego shakes his head. “No,” he says patiently, like he actually cares.

“Oh.” Klaus rubs his eyes. “You sure? I don’t seem to see any other kind of person these days.” Klaus lets out a shrill, sideways giggle at the thought of Jennifer, a friend from the streets; it had taken him five days to realize she was dead, and that it was her spirit following him around. That’s happened more times than he cares to count.

“I’m sure.” Diego’s suddenly beside him, leaning over the moth-eaten couch. “Let’s get you out of here.”

“Mm,” Klaus hums. “No thanks. I’m good.” He pats the cushion beside him. “This is luxury.”

Diego snorts. He doesn’t say anything else, just works an arm around Klaus’ back and then slips an arm under his knees. He moves quick, or maybe Klaus’ brain is just moving slow. He’s up, suddenly, and his ass is cold without the warmth of the couch beneath him. He yelps, dimly hears Diego shushing him, and clings to his brother.

“What,” Klaus starts. Words are _hard_ , okay? “Where?”

“You’ll see,” Diego says. He doesn’t quite smile at Klaus. More like a grimace.

Klaus decides pretty quick that being carried is just as good as melting into the couch. Diego is strong and warm, and the rhythm of his strides is almost like being rocked to sleep. The thought makes him laugh again, and Diego spares him a quick raised eyebrow. Klaus rests his head on Diego’s shoulder; he definitely drools a bit on the leather, but Diego doesn’t tell him off for it, so Klaus thinks it’s okay.

He fades in and out of consciousness all through the walk. It feels like they walk for ages, although he thinks he remembers at some point being loaded into the backseat of a car. He remembers the rumbling of a motor beneath him, remembers the summer sun beating down on his skin and making him sweat in his fur jacket. He remembers a hand on his wet forehead and the pressure lulls him to sleep.

He comes to, for good, just as his high is finally starting to inch away. He’s dazed and confused and back in Diego’s arms, walking once more.

“Where…?”

“You’ll see,” Diego says again, and this time it just sort of annoys Klaus.

“Tell me,” Klaus says as he starts to wriggle in Diego’s arms. He wants down, now. He wants to feel the solid ground under his feet, wants to kick off his shoes and wants to score a hit and—

“Klaus.” Diego’s voice is sharp. “You need to do this, okay?”

“Fuck you,” Klaus spits. He manages to worm an arm from in between his body and Diego’s chest and jams it up, elbowing Diego in the jaw. Diego drops him and Klaus lands right on his ass, pain shooting through his nerves like gunfire. “Fuck you, Diego. How did you even find me?” He’s still trying to stand as Diego cradles his own jaw.

“It doesn’t matter.” Diego reaches out and takes Klaus by the arm as he stands. “You could’ve died.”

“Who cares?” Klaus fires back. “Who gives a single fuck!” It’s not a question, not a statement.

Diego doesn’t say anything but tugs Klaus along. His grip is tight and painful, it might even leave bruises. The thought thrills Klaus, distantly, in that corner of his mind that still feels things beyond cravings and pain and highs. He trips over his feet as Diego drags him down the sidewalk. Klaus already knows where they’re going, but his body is weak and he can only fight for so long.

By the time they hit the steps of the rehab center, Klaus is leaning on Diego, almost being carried once again.

“It’ll be good for you,” Diego assures. “You’ll get better.”

“And then what?” Klaus shoves at Diego but can’t break away. “What happens when I’m sober? All the voices come back and I’ve got no one alive to turn to, so what the _fuck_ happens then, Diego?”

Diego, again, doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t make promises he can’t keep, and for that Klaus is grateful. If anything, Diego looks a little sheepish, like he didn’t quite think this through. _God_ , Klaus wants to punch him, give him an elbow to the jaw on the other side, to match the blooming red patch on his left.

He wants to kiss him, too. Because no one has ever done this, as much as Klaus hates it. None of his lovers, even the ones he thought he could spend the rest of his life with, ever said that dreaded r-word. None of his other siblings ever looked him up and dragged him to a center like this; they all pretended they couldn’t see his downward spiral that started after Ben died. Ben is the only one who ever tried, but Klaus shut him out, made him disappear with a good high.

Tears, warm and stinging, are pooling in the corners of his eyes. He wants to kiss Diego, and wonders if he should do it now. Wonders if he’ll ever get another chance, or if he’ll die in rehab, or if Diego will die in the field, or, or, or—

“Klaus.” Diego squeezes Klaus’ arm.

“Get off me,” Klaus snaps and Diego lets go as if burned. Klaus looks him up and down. He almost leans in to kiss Diego, even just on the cheek. Diego’s watching him intently, the way a hunter might watch its prey.

Klaus turns, puts his back to Diego, and stumbles up the steps to rehab.

 

 

 

**_now_ **

Klaus is sober, _truly_ sober, for the first time since he was sixteen. Rehab doesn’t count, because it was artificial. He was never doing it for himself, he was never doing it because he _wanted_ to get sober. He was doing it because Diego asked him, because a lover asked him, because an old lady on the streets told him to clean up his act. He never did it when Ben asked, and he never did it because he thought to himself, _I want to be sober_.

Until now. The apocalypse can change a man.

 _In more ways than one_ , he thinks as he lays in his bed. He’s staring at the ceiling; Ben is laying on the floor beside the bed, attempting to read a book. Everything, for the moment, is deceptively calm. The house is still, no one’s busting in to kick their asses or kidnap one of them. It almost makes his skin itch, almost makes him want a joint or something to take this edge off.

“Don’t,” Ben says knowingly from the floor. “There are other things you can do to entertain yourself.”

Klaus groans. “Don’t start with me.” Even so, he swings his legs off the bed and steps over Ben, even if it’s not totally necessary. He slips out of his bedroom and looks around the hallway. Music flows from the small crack in Luther’s door, and Allison’s door is open revealing her bed to be empty. She’s probably with Luther. Vanya’s door is shut, because she’s not here, and the air is cold as Klaus walks by.

He goes to Diego’s room, but isn’t surprised to find that room empty as well. He pauses long enough to look at the mirror still pressed into one corner, looks himself over, wonders if sober is a good look on him, then starts to wander through the mansion.

He finds Diego in the kitchen nursing a scotch on the rocks. Klaus wrinkles his nose in distaste—not his preferred style of drink, regardless of sobriety—and goes to the fridge. There’s a jug of orange juice and Klaus doesn’t bother to grab a glass, just takes it over to the table and falls into the seat beside Diego.

He unscrews the cap and takes a long and hearty swig. It washes down his throat cool and sweet, and he drinks until he feels a little sick. When he sets the jug aside, Diego’s watching him.

“So,” Klaus drawls. “I’m bored.”

Diego snorts. “Shocker.” His words are a little slurred, and if Klaus had to guess he’d say that’s probably not Diego’s first drink tonight.

Klaus kicks him under the table. “I’m sober,” he adds.

Diego raises his drink in salute and downs the rest of it, ice cubes clinking in the glass. “I am not.”

Klaus rolls his eyes. “The world’s gonna go to shit in a few days.”

Diego simply nods. He closes his eyes.

“I never got to thank you for...that first time.”

Diego blinks like he doesn’t quite understand.

“Rehab.” Even now, the word tastes like ash in Klaus’ mouth. “You made me go, the first time.”

“Load of good it did,” Diego says.

Klaus shrugs. “Maybe not then, but it did help, a little. I kept going back. Kept trying. And look, here I am.”

Diego raises his glass again, goes to take a drink except it’s empty. Klaus reaches toward him to pull the cup away and puts it out of Diego’s reach.

“How drunk are you, really?” Klaus asks. The idea’s been burning in his head since Ben mentioned _other_ ways to entertain himself. It’s been almost twenty years, now. No time like the present, right?

“Not that drunk,” Diego admits. He sounds sad for it, and Klaus lets out a soft laugh.

“Good. I want to try something.” Klaus turns his chair so that he’s facing Diego. “Promise you won’t hit me?”

“You know I can’t promise that,” Diego replies with a crooked grin.

“Worth a shot.” Klaus leans in, and he’s not one hundred percent sure, but he thinks Diego leans in too. “I’ve been wanting to do this for…”

“So do it.” Like always, Diego poses a challenge, a bar to jump over, an expectation to be met. For once, Klaus doesn’t want to disappoint him.

He leans in, braces a hand on the armrest, and kisses Diego on the corner of his mouth. He couldn’t decide between the cheek and Diego’s lips, so this feels like a comfortable medium. Diego inhales sharply, almost sounds like _“fuck,”_ uttered so softly. Then Diego’s turning his head and catching Klaus’ lips in a gentle, burning kiss.

Klaus sighs into it. It feels like a decade’s weight has been lifted off his shoulders, something like guilt or regret or _whatever_. No time to dwell on the past, because Diego’s kissing him and moving closer and reaching for Klaus with eager but careful hands, like Klaus is something delicate that could break.

Klaus reaches out and wraps a hand around the back of Diego’s neck, pulls him closer and bites his bottom lip before breaking the kiss. He presses his forehead to Diego’s. “You have no idea—?”

“I do,” Diego says. His breath tastes like scotch but the buzz in Klaus’ veins is all from the kiss, the electric current of lust and tension. “I have some idea.”

Klaus laughs, shaking his head. “We’re idiots,” he whispers as if it’s a secret. “We’re so fucking _stupid_.”

Diego laughs too, and before long they’re both roaring with it, clutching their sides and leaning on each other. At some point it turns to lazily kissing and even lazier hands wandering over bodies. The angles are all wrong and the chairs are stiff and uncomfortable.

Klaus breaks away, his lips practically vibrating from kissing for so long, and says again, “We could’ve been doing this for years, for _ages_. We’re so fucking stupid.”

There’s the distinct sound of time and space warping as Five suddenly appears in front of the fridge. “Yeah, got that right,” he says. He doesn’t even look at them, except when he mutters _“where’s the fucking orange juice,”_ and Klaus coughs. Another warping sound and Five is right beside them to grab the jug. “Don’t mind me, keep being idiots, by all means.”

Then he’s gone. Klaus half expects Diego to have run off in the few seconds Five interrupted them, but Klaus turns back to find Diego watching him with heavy eyes.

“Still bored?”

Klaus hums. “Little bit.” He grins impishly.

“I think I can fix that,” Diego says, voice low and deep, something like sultry but, to Klaus, someone who’s known Diego since _birth_ , it’s kind of funny too.

So he giggles, and rolls his eyes, and says, “I think you can, too.”

He kisses Diego again.


End file.
